


into the water (let it pull you under)

by KeeperofSeeds



Category: Fallen London | Echo Bazaar, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Blanket Permission, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Drownies (Fallen London), Fallen London, Flirting, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Non-Penetrative Sex, Not Beta Read, Recurring Dreams: Death by Water (Fallen London), Rescue, Temperature Play, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-23 00:18:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16608218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeeperofSeeds/pseuds/KeeperofSeeds
Summary: Tony stumbles across a dead man on his way home.





	into the water (let it pull you under)

**Author's Note:**

> Some quick Fallen London terminology/info:
> 
> Echo Bazaar - The Bazaar is located at the heart of Fallen London, in the Neath, a cavern of impossible size, by the Unterzee, a tremendous saltwater lake. They say it's the skull of some defunct pagan god. That doesn't sound very likely. Although it would explain the dreams.
> 
> Drownies -Drownies are, for practical purposes, walking drowned men. They shiver, they complain, they try to drag you under the Stolen River's surface and make you one of them. They are not neighbourly.
> 
> What happens when you die in Fallen London - Death in the Fifth City isn't necessarily the end. If you're stabbed or shot, someone may come along and sew you back together soon enough. If you're drowned, you'll wake with a hangover. If you die of old age or disease, or if you're hacked to pieces, it's a more serious matter. But in any case, once you die and return to life down here, you'll never be permitted to return to the surface...unless you're one of the few who find a way to immortality
> 
> The Zee aka the Broad Underzee - Far calmer than any surface sea: black glass stretching to the fathomless depths […], glimmering with the light of false-stars. Beautiful in the way that only mirrors are, and deserts. Also positively stuffed with monsters and nine kinds of pirate

**Fallen London 1889**

 

   
Trekking back from the bazaar with three bottles of Greyfields wine merrily clinking in his bag, Tony grinned. He’d done far better at the Bazaar than he had hoped. Between Mr. Wine’s generous trade, a handful of new candles, and the unexpected arrival of yet another letter from his dear friend, Henry, he was feeling quite cheerful.

He gives a wide berth to the white cat eyeing him suspiciously and continues down the road. He's crossing the bridge into Spite when he first feels something amiss. He pauses on the far side of the bridge and looks cautiously around, peering into the shadows, wary of pickpockets or other sorts of unpleasantness. Blue Jack was rumored to be out and about lately and this wasn’t the nicest of neighborhoods...but no. Nothing stands out in the shadows.

But wait! There’s something under the bridge, near the water’s edge. It looks like a body. Has someone fallen in the River? Or been pushed? That’s certainly unfortunate, but it shouldn’t have been fatal.

Not for long anyway.

A look around confirms that he is still alone save for a clay man digging though a dustbin a ways away. Tony decides to go investigate. Curiosity had always been a fault of his. He makes his way down the slight hill to the water’s edge, keeping a sharp eye out for anything unsavory. Rumors run wild about the Unterzee, and it doesn’t hurt to be careful.

As he creeps closer, the body becomes clearer. It’s a man. Huge and pale, lying face down in the mud. His clothes are soaked though. He definitely went for a dip in the River then. But Tony doesn’t see any blood on the man’s finely made clothes. Carefully laying his goods aside, he gets his fingers under the man and with a heave, rolls him over. Brushing muck and grime off reveals a young man in what looks to be some sort of military dress. Beneath the muck he really is quite handsome, with strong features and golden blonde hair. Still no blood visible on him though. His skin is pale and the chilled air has begun turning his drenched locks to tiny icicles. How did someone who looks so well off end up here at the river’s edge? Tony spends a few seconds amusing his self by conjuring up stories, each more ridiculous than the last, about who this mysterious man was. Maybe an angry ex-lover sent him to the Drownies rather than see him with another? Maybe he was betrayed by a fellow Army man. Maybe he was a courier for the Silent Empress.

Maybe there is a reward for finding him? Tony starts brainstorming ideas on how to transport the man up the bank and away from the river. After that he’s not sure, but away from the River is a good place to start. While he is thinking he absentmindedly continuing to brush mud from the stranger’s face when suddenly, the man’s eyes open and he draws in a deep rattling breath.

Tony scrambles back, almost tripping over his things as the man continues to suck in lungfuls of air.

Death might not be completely permanent here, but Tony didn’t want to take any chances of the man lashing out. He had no desire to be dragged into the dark water.  
The man rolls to the side, coughing up brackish water and attempting to wipe at his face. He only succeeds in smearing streaks of mud along his forehead. He blinks blearily around and finally focuses on Tony, crouching on the dry ground out of reach.

"What...what happened?" he rasps.

"'Fraid I can't help you there," Tony says. "I only just came upon you. It seems as if you've were Drowned."

"I...I don't remember. I was meeting someone..." he trails off and blinks again, peering closer at Tony. "You were trying to help me?" He sounds surprised. "A thief wouldn't care about my face." His smirk transforms his face. He looks boyish, mischievous, even while soaked to the bone. "What a gentleman."

Tony chuckles and waves a hand. "No, no! Not at all. I was just passing by and you caught my eye. You're dressed too nice for this neighborhood and well, I was curious. It's a well known fault of mine. I certainty wasn't expecting you to wake up so quickly however! Do you need help getting somewhere?"

The man slowly pulled one knee forward and pushed himself up into the mud. He wavered slightly and Tony took an instinctive step forward, reaching out a hand. The man took a stuttering step forward and grasped it.

"Thanks."

"Not to worry. I've done my fair share of steadying drunken friends. None of them are quite so muscular as you, but I think I can manage."

The man laughs, the sound clearer and brighter than his rasping speech. "Does my rescuer happen to have somewhere I can freshen up?"

Tony pauses, considering. Accepting offers from strange men was a whole new definition of living dangerously. Col Rhodes would have his hide if he was murdered in his own home. Especially after all the work Rhodes had gone through last year to save him. But something about this mysterious soldier called out to him. But gut feelings are one thing, blind trust is another entirely. He'll take him to one of his more rarely visited rooms.

"This way," he tilts his head. "I have an old room not too far away that will work. Might even be able to grab a bite to eat if you’re lucky!”

"Well, I'm feeling luckier now than I must have been before, the man says and stars, he winks.

Tony hopes the dim lights hide his flush. Flirting with drowned men. What an unexpected turn this evening has taken.

Together they stumble up the hill back to the street. Only pausing for Tony to pick up his packages.

“I’d offer you my coat, but I doubt it would do much good,” Tony says, smiling apologetically. The man’s clothes are dripping steady streams of brackish water upon the already muddied street.

“Couldn’t hurt to try,” the man says reaching up with a sly grin.

"Not unless you buy me dinner first!" He deflects. "You're awfully forward for a Drownie, but then, I suppose I don't have much to compare you to. I don't spend much time at the Docks these days, or with soldiers."

He lets that thought linger, waits for the man to pick up on the thread and reveal more about himself, but he doesn't take the bait. He's walking steadier now, only a slight dragging of his feet along the stones.  

He's staring down at his feet as they walk, as if making sure they continue to move. Tony has to pull him sharply aside, out of the path from a running courier. The man meets his eyes and Tony's breath hitches, his hand gripping the wet fabric in his hand tighter. His eyes are a bright blue, like a memory of sun and the surface.

"All this work to help me and I don't even know my savoir's name."

"Tony." he says softly.

The man leans closer and closer and Tony closes his eyes, but the man only rests their foreheads together. His skin is still freezing. His breath smells musty. It smells familiar. Memories of a boatman flash behind Tony's eyes but he pushes them away. He reaches up and gently pushes the man away as well.

"Come on. We're almost there."

* * *

The Gambling Den over his old room is in full swing by the time they make it back. Raucous laughter and the clinking of glasses echo out through the open door.

Tony quickly reaches a hand out and grabs the man's soaked shirt to pull him around to the back entrance. It isn't the first time he's made use of it. Won't be the last either. He only hopes no one needs to hurry down the stairs in the near future. The trail of water puddling in the middle of each step might end any chance of a quick escape. 

* * *

The man openly stares at the contents of his room when Tony releases him to light a fire in the hearth.

“Stand there and try not to drip all over anything important.” Tony says while rustling around his room for a towel that isn’t too badly stained. He eventually finds one with only a little grease beneath his workbench. It has a few holes along the edges but it one of the few large enough to be of any use.

Turning back he finds Steve has only moved closer to his bookshelf and has his head tilted sideways, squinting in the dim light, trying to make out the titles. He is however standing far enough away that the risk of water dripping on them is minimal.

"Here." Tony says, holding out the towel. Then he points over his shoulder, "the washroom is that way. Just toss or bring out anything you want hung up to dry.

He comes out wrapped in the towel and holds out his arm where he's gathered his clothes.

And oh….goodness. For a drowned man he still looks remarkable. His shoulders are broad even without the bulk of his coat, and the candle light accentuates the hills and valleys of his muscles in a way that draws his eyes down the lines of him until the darkness and the towel meet.

Steve clears his throat and Tony's eyes snap up to meet his, a blush coloring his cheeks.

"See something you like?

 

"Well," Tony drawls, "you're certainly not what I expected a Drownie to look like, that's for sure."

"You expected more wailing and less civilized conversation I'm sure."

"I certainly didn't expect someone with as many muscles as you have to have been dragged down to the depths. Someone must have gotten lucky to have got the drop on you."

"Yeah...lucky." He sounds unsure as he repeats the words, but maybe he's just still struggling to remember. Tony decides it's only polite to give him a minute to himself and goes to check for food.

Tony checks the cabinets thoroughly, which gives the stranger time to situate himself in front of the fireplace.  
  
Nothing. Hmmm.

He does still has his wares from earlier. He wonders if he ought to offer the man a drink. Do Drownies drink? He doesn’t remember even hearing such a tale, but then he’s never had much cause to spend time at the docks. He decides it couldn't hurt and wipes off two mismatch glasses.

The man gratefully accepts the wine. "Hopefully this will help warm me up! I can still feel the icy fingers of the water pulling at me." He takes a long drink and Tony's eyes follow the line of his throat as he swallows.

"I'm lucky you were the one to find to me. I doubt many other would be this hospitable.

Tony takes a sip of his own, letting the flavors linger on his tongue before replying. "You're just lucky my curiosity got the better of me.  If I hadn't stopped you would have been robbed blind! Your uniform stripped away and sold in pieces." He chuckles at the imagined situation. "Imagine having to find your way home while naked and confused. Now that would have been a sight to stop even a Devil!"

"I'm glad it was you," the man says seriously, and Tony doesn't know what to say. "Well, it's been no bother so far. I'm glad to help a handsome man such as yourself. Speaking of that, do you remember anything more? Who you may have been meeting near the bridge? Or...if you have someone expecting you somewhere?"

The man leans forward in his chair. "I remember some things," he admits. "But that’s not really important now. What's important...is rewarding my savior.”

He slides off the chair and kneels on the floor, reaching one hand slowly out to rest on Tony's thigh. His thumb rubs gently back and forth along the inside of his seam.

He knows he shouldn't. You can't trust anyone down here. Tony knows this, has already been betrayed and has the scars to prove it.

But still he lets himself fall.

He falls to his knees as well and meets the man in the middle, their mouths crashing together. Large arms circle Tony and he melts into the embrace. The man's skin is still cold. Perhaps that's normal for a Drownie. Tony doesn't know, and the man doesn't seem to care, so he presses closer, runs his hands over muscles and down his back to push away the towel. The stranger chuckles into their next kiss when Tony grabs at his ass.

"You're wearing far too many clothes," he whispers and Tony is stripping before he finishes speaking. His shirt ends up throw over his now empty chair, his trousers somewhere near the fire, hopefully not in the fire, but really even that might not be reason enough for him to stop right now.

"I can't believe we're doing this." he admits pushing at the man's shoulder to get him to sit back. "I don't even know you're name. You might not even know your own name! Are you sure you want this?"

The man goes back easily, pulling Tony to sit in his lap. He moans at the feeling of bare skin sliding together.

"Yes," he whispers, beginning to rock his hips. "Yes. I know what I want. I want this. I want you."

He reaches a hand between them and wraps it around both their cocks. Tony arches his back at the shock of sensation. The chill of his hand against hot flesh sending shivers up his spine. The warmth of the fire behind him and the chill of skin under and around him. His skin feels over sensitive. Each touch light a spark in the night.

He can feel orgasm rushing up on him. He pulls the stranger closer bucks harder into that firm grip. Lips brush against his ear and he thinks yes, yes, just a little more. But instead of dirty nothings whispered in his ear he hears, "Steve. My name is Steve."

He comes with the man's name on his lips.

"You sneaky bastard. You were just waiting to drop that on me, weren't you?"

The stranger, _Steve_ , doesn't answer. He just smirks, pleased with himself. He runs a hand through the mess on Tony's stomach and brings his hand back to his own neglected member. In the light from the fire he looks like a painting from one of the Churches. Some old saint in the thralls of ecstasy. How could someone so beautiful have found their way to his doorstep? 

Tony finds his tongue again and reaches out, "come here gorgeous. I want to feel you." He leans back against the floor, pulling Steve's bulk down on top of him. "Yeah. Just like this." He pulls at Steve's hips, urging him to rock. The hard, hot line of his cock along the crease of his hip, close enough to send sharp sparks of pleasure radiating out from his own softening cock. 

Steve picks up on the idea quickly and his hard breaths against Tony's neck spur him on. He's the one whispering dirty nothings now. Streams of words imagining how it would feel to fuck Steve's mouth, promises to burn the dark chill out from under his skin, to lay him out in a bed next time and make him beg.   
Steve comes with a sharp moan, his whole body curling in on itself. 

* * *

They do make it to the bed. Eventually. After more drinks and another round. The sheets are covered in dust and they both barely fit into the old frame, but if they curl together, and Steve lets Tony throw a leg over his, then they can mostly fit.

Tony wraps one hand around Steve's chest and buries his nose against his neck. He smells like the room now. Like smoke from the fire, and sex, and a hint of the wine they'd drank. Steve brings his hand to hip lips and presses one more kiss against his knuckles. 

Tony falls asleep to the slow but steady thump of Steve's heart.    

* * *

That night, Tony dreams. He is standing on deck of a tall ship. Thunder rumbles in the distance. He looks to the sky, searching perhaps for the half remember pattern of stars when lightning streaks across his vision, it’s bright flare reflected back by the calm surface of the sea. From beneath the deck a whisper rises and falls: “North…North.”

 

Steve is gone when he wakes, the taste of salt still on his tongue. 

The bed is cold.

On the side table near the fireplace, beneath one of the empty glasses from last night, he finds a scrap of paper. On it is an address, a tavern near Wolfstack Docks.  

Tony remembers his dream. Maybe this had been no coincidence. Maybe Fate was leading him towards something. Something at the docks. The whispers echo in his memory, calling him to come, come to the Zee. 

**Author's Note:**

> [1] Having reaccuring Dreams: [Death by water](https://fallenlondon.fandom.com/wiki/Having_Recurring_Dreams:_Death_by_Water)
> 
> I equally thank and blame [Heros and Devils by marinarusalka](https://archiveofourown.org/works/255390) for my interest in Fallen London and also crossing over this world with Marvel characters. I definitely recommend reading it, it a spooky but fun adventure story even if you aren't familiar with the Fallen London world or lore.


End file.
